Page 76 of Stormhold

“What is it?” I asked, frowning.

Arkane threw the phone back on the couch with a frustrated huff. “He keeps pestering me to convince you to go out with him.”

I thought I had already rejected Karl Ford once. Maybe the quest for the unattainable was something a man like him enjoyed. Instead of saying I wasn’t interested, I asked Arkane, “And why haven’t you?” I held my breath, curious to know his answer.

But Arkane, being Arkane, smoothly brushed it off with another question. “Do you want to?” His intent gaze remained fixed on me.

“No,” I said. “He isn’t my type.”

“Then what is?” he asked in a low tone. “Your type?”

Tall, dark hair, and piercing eyes with an air of mystery and confidence at the same time, protective, strong, caring, and gentle. You, I wanted to say, but instead, I said, “Lucien.” I would definitely pick Lucien over the other men in his circle. Yes, he was dangerous, but I found myself reduced to a soft puddle for dangerous men. Especially the one in front of me. More like only him.

Arkane’s eyes hardened. “Lucien?” he asked, an empty laugh leaving his lips. “He would chop you up for dinner and eat you for breakfast.”

“Exactly my type,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. I wasn’t thinking of Lucien at all. Somehow, I knew Arkane was built from the same cloth, and he would do more than just eat me for breakfast. It did sound very sexually cringe in my head, but I didn’t let it show on my face.

A wicked smile sliced his lips. “Really, Bella?” He casually reached for a strand of my hair and twisted it around his finger without taking his eyes off me.

Heat flushed my veins, and I was almost afraid the quiet of the room would give away the pitch of my heartbeat.

“If you want him…”

Thankfully, I was saved by his phone call, dissonating the moment between us.

The smirk he gave me before answering his phone said he was playing a cruel game with me, knowing how much it affected me.

Not even a second into the phone call, Arkane’s entire expression fell into a cold, hard mask, and I just knew something was wrong. Sitting upright, I put my book away and focused on him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Arkane’s menacing tone brushed my skin like the winds of death. “How the fuck did this happen?” He jumped to his feet and strode away. I quickly followed, a certain sense of uneasiness curling in my chest as I looked at him.

Something was terribly wrong because I had never seen Arkane this angry or miserable at the same time. Even when Marcus was missing, he remained calm and composed, showing his anger only when dealing with Timothy Walters. But now, even the air around him felt terrifyingly ruthless.

I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know if I should be following him, but my heart didn’t want to leave him alone right now.

Arkane jumped into a waiting black truck, slamming the door behind him. Not knowing what to do, I slipped into the passenger seat, just as the car swerved forward. Eric drove in complete silence. Other than exchanging a grim look with me, he didn’t say a word.

I turned back to see Arkane folded over, elbows to his knees, and his head on his palms. I couldn’t see his face from this angle, but at that moment I could feel his pain. Whatever it was, it agonized him from the inside out.

Was it his mother?

Almost twenty minutes of tense silence later, we reached a serene seaside neighborhood called Pearl Sands. Located on the edge of the Twins, it was an upscale area that Uppers citizens often used as their secondary vacation homes.

As our car came to a stop in front of a beautiful beachfront mansion, Arkane didn’t move an inch. He was still in the same position, curled over.

The mansion itself was breezy, with wide glass windows and a modern exterior, and the property was enclosed in high compound walls, swarming with black trucks and plenty of guards. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Mikhail approaching us, but instead of getting to Arkane, he hesitated outside our truck. Eric quietly announced that we had arrived and slipped out without saying another word.

But Arkane remained still, barely acknowledging anything. Almost as if his head and heart were someplace else. And in the quiet of the truck, I felt it tenfold.

Taking a deep breath, I removed my seatbelt and turned around. Lying a gentle hand on his thigh, I whispered, “Arkane.”

As if startled, Arkane’s bloodshot eyes snapped open at me. Something about the utter devastation and confusion in them hurt my chest. “Ark,” I whispered again, “we’re here.” I still had no idea where here was.

He blinked once, twice, and thrice before a glint crossed his eyes like he finally noticed me. “Bella,” he whispered, “we’re here?” He repeated my words, his eyes swimming around us back and forth and back and forth, before the confusion in his eyes faded and something hard replaced it. It was almost as if he switched his entire personality as he became aware of his surroundings.

Without wasting another second, he rushed out of the car, and I followed swiftly. No one spoke a word, and no one dared to meet Arkane’s eyes as he stormed into the house.

I shadowed behind, keeping myself on the sidelines, and with every step we took, the sound of cries increased. From the looks of it, it was a well-loved home, but the desolate sadness that hung in the air shrouded whatever happiness it once held.